They caught us near the street, like deer that takes refuge to the dark. Always in our backs they snapped us in our weakest moments. With broken legs you can’t run that far, they’ll obtain you fast, and take aware to hear what they mean, cause usually they speak with knives They speak with knives!
Voices sounding like an empty orchestra that plays the soundtrack of our lies, every single note they bow or wind feels like a thorn in skin. In the end this journey was anything else but successful, one bridge too far, we searched for freedom and found nothing but a cold tomb!
At least we found nothing but a cold tomb!
To narrate retroperspectively, I never thought this trip could end up in chains, somehow we always thought, that we’d be the arsonists that will set the world on fire!
We should be the arsonists that will set the world on fire!
And once again I’m calling the rain, to wash away this dry fields of grief, to wash away my bones and all I’ve ever feared. Everything I know for sure is that time’s a mirror itself, Somewhere along the way also the good times have to come to an end. Outside these walls I can see how night divides the day, and as the dawn falls I remember: Death always remained more perfect than life.
After a while they screamed: Give ‘em blades to dig up their own graves! The dawn marked their beginning, the dawn marks the end. Give ‘em rope!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
